


Daughter of fate

by abitofarockyroad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abitofarockyroad/pseuds/abitofarockyroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living in a small town, doing mediocre jobs was getting you by in life. You were happy with the way things were going. Fate however was going to stop your happiness lasting. When the eyes of your friendly vicar turn jet black, and the majority of your town are murdered, things begin to go catastrophically wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daughter of fate

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got around to writing some of my longer fic!   
> So this chapter is a bit wordy but it’s mainly just to get everything up and running and there will be more exciting things happening later :)   
> Please let me know what you think, I’m trying something new here so I’d love to know if you guys like it!   
> \- Fran

Rain soaked land squelched under the feet of villagers as the small town piled into the rustic church, the bells toiling. The church sat slightly away from the bustle of town, in a peaceful alcove of the city that wasn’t touched by its consistent flurry. The earth weathered stone of the building stood strong although the music of the church organ still permeated out from the inside, greeting everyone as they entered.

The Sunday service was to begin soon and the town chatted happily as they gathered in the holy hall, the occasional burst of sunlight sending multi-coloured prisms to play on the stony floor, illuminating the dust motes that floated and swirled.

Your hand held back the yawn that escaped you, like a dam holding back the exhaustion currently flooding your system. Last night you had been up late reading, which was not something that surprised you but it was a constant hindrance in your daily life, usually leaving you a tad grumpy.

Your crucifix necklace swung gently, comfortingly, against your collarbone as you wandered around the church, greeting people you knew from town. Some of the kids you looked after during the Sunday service ran around you, ignoring berating calls from their mothers, giggling and waving at you to get your attention. Smiling kindly, you give a small wave at them and when their mothers aren’t looking, you pull a face, their peals of laughter making you chuckle as they run off to play more games.

Heading to the back of the hall, you find your usual seat, a friendly woman who you often chatted with, Mrs. Horne, sits next to you, the folds on her face squirming as she smiles at you, offering you a good morning.

“Such a wonderful job you’ve been doing with the little ones.” Her rusty voice utters, battered from the cigarettes you had seen her smoking when her husband wasn’t looking, sending the perfume of burnt tobacco in your direction. You smile, accepting the compliment and thanking her. “You’ve obviously got a very strong maternal instinct.”

“Oh I don’t know about that, Mrs. Horne.” You say, light-heartedly. “My knowledge only goes as far as finger painting and story books.”

She laughs, her coffee coloured eyes as lively as her spirit. “To be frank dear, there’s not much else to it.”

As Father Adela moves up to the pulpit you both turn to watch as he starts his sermon.

“Welcome everyone,” The purr of chatter dies down to silence at his voice. “Thank you for trudging through this awful weather we’ve had to get here today. Firstly, we’d like to offer a thank you to our Wednesday church group for their fundraiser…”

As Father continued with his thank you’s and bless you’s you noticed the fair haired boy you took care of in Sunday school making his way to stand by stone steps of the pulpit. Your eyes quickly glanced at him in second hand exasperation but an icy wave of shock dulls the emotion as he glances at you before turning his back on you. At your startled gasp, Mrs. Horne gives you a confused look and you smile shakily to reassure her as you glance at the boy again and refute your original notion. For a second the boy’s eyes looked like dark voids, black.

“Now, please join me in prayer.” Father Adela speaks, bringing his hands up, palms raised to the sky as he comes to the end of his morning speech. The congregation tipped their heads forward in unison, the movement resembling a surging wave. As you go to join them your gaze catches sight of the young boy quietly walking up to the Father, leaning to whisper in his ear as he knelt, nodding along.

For some reason this unsettles you, your stomach tenses in an unpleasant way as your heart drums faster, anxious. You breathe deeply, your uneasiness still sloshing in your intestines like acid, as you tip your head forward to join the crowd, beginning to mutter the Lord’s Prayer under your breath.

“-Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven.” Your eyes trace the scratches in the wood of the chair in front. “Give us this day our daily bread…” The rustle of a black suit in your periphery leaves your prayer to peter out. With your head still bent forward, you follow his movement to the entrance hall that is usually left open during your sermons. Stealthily he closes the door and you think you see the quirk of his hand as he locks it.

A finger of dread ran down your spine as you distractedly continue the Lord’s Prayer, the man who you’d never seen here before walked confidently toward the pulpit, Father Adela smirking at him as others began to stand up to join them around the church.

Finally others in the congregation clocked on to these behaviours and a confused murmur replaced the melody of the Lord’s Prayer.

A slow, sarcastic clap echoed around hallowed hall from Father Adela, once again silencing the people. “Well done.” He said, his voice losing its humble tone and sending a sliver of panic into your veins. “Really, your faith is admirable.”

Adrenaline coursed through your bloodstream, your brain registering a threat as people begin to scatter, confused and seeking comfort elsewhere, in an attempt to leave, frightened, only to be pushed or restrained by those standing around the edges of the pews.

“You flock here like sheep.” He says, his words flooding the room like ice, awaking the senses of those hearing it. His words were spoken slowly, with precision and force, nothing like the kind voice you had grown used to every Sunday service. “And that, my dear lambs, is what’s led to your downfall.”

When his eyes turn the same colour of onyx you had spotted on the boy the sound of terrified screams reverberate around the room, beating against your ear drums. For a moment your legs are locked as you sit and watch those that gathered by the pulpit pull weapons from their persons, relishing in the screams and the blood of those they took down, their black eyes shining in glee.

You hold onto the pew for dear life, a man in front of you being dragged up by the scruff of his neck only to have his neck removed entirely from his body. A fire enters your muscles, forcing you to scramble over the back of the pew, faltering like a baby animal as your rigid legs worked to spring you as far as possible from the gore. Knowing the entrance to the hall had been locked you let your body fall to the concrete floor, rolling in the grime to conceal yourself under the seat.

The screeching of your friends and family fuel the sobs that pain your chest, closing your eyes shut tight intensifies the wailing, leaving you to imprint the memory in your mind.

A dull thud next to you startles you out of your petrified trance, your head snaps to the side to lock eyes with the glassy, dead eyes of Mrs. Horne, one milky sclera stained with the cherry red that adorned her wrinkled face.

A howl rips from your throat as you turn your head to avoid her relentless gaze, the vision of her loose, hanging jaw searing into the back of your eye lids so you couldn’t close your eyes without the ghost of her haunting you.

Before too long the agonised sounds of the people you’d worshiped with died out, with a final cry of desperation, mercy, there was silence. You cover a hand over your mouth, sharp finger nails digging into your skin in an attempt to keep your ragged breathing quiet.

You can hear an aggravated exhale from the front of the room, though you couldn’t see anything from your position. “Well, where is she?” The voice you recognised as Father Adela said.

“Sir, we searched through everyone and we can’t find her.” This reply was followed with a whine of pain. Tears dribbled down the sides of your face in endless streams as if to wash away the brutality marked in the stress lines on your face.

“Obviously you haven’t searched everyone here or else you would have found her!” His words held nothing but malicious intent and they seemed to stir those in his party as the sounds of movement followed.

“She’ll be here somewhere, we’ll find her.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall, like the quickening beat of a drum roll, clenching around your speedily beating heart. Clasping your hands together, the skin tautening and turning white, you began to whisper a prayer that these men would not find you, although you feared they would, and if they did that you had the strength to escape.

Louder footfalls rang by your head as a foot came into view, walking slowly by your pew. Pausing in thought, the foot inched slowly under the seat, swinging toward you like radar searching for life. Your breath stopped, hands clasping tighter over your mouth, eyes wide. The foot bit by bit came closer, tapping gradually toward your flinching stomach. Just as the tip of the shoe began to brush you, the voice above you grunted in annoyance and continued on their way.

Allowing yourself to fill your lung with the oxygen you needed, you closed your eyes, a dull kind of relief flooding through you.

It was short lived. As you opened your eyes, a scream rang out in the hall as the bloodied face of Father Adela grinned wolfishly at you. You scrambled to get away but his meaty claws fell heavily on your shoulders, dragging you out from your hiding place.

“Ah, my little lamb.” He crooned, his arm coming to wind around your neck like a scarf, choking off your screams. Fingernails tore into flesh as you fought to get away, whimpering, legs scraping against the floor. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Men were coming toward you, looking like they’d found their prize. Adela’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, its strength surprising you, as he ran it toward your throat.

A startled shout came from him as his hand grazed across the chain around your neck, your cross nested between your collarbones. In his surprise his grip on your shoulder weakened and you darted from his hold and ran to the exit hidden in the back rooms of the church, dodging those that grabbed for you.

Your breath burned your lungs as you ran and you could hear the shouting behind you but you couldn’t make out the words as you focused your energy on reaching the door, sprinting like a frightened animal.

You could see the door, unlocked, as your legs worked to propel you toward it. The door was the portal to freedom from this hell, relief rushed through as you saw the exit in close proximity before a figure stepped before it.

The woman glared, her dark eyes glinting in the sunlight shining through the painted glass window of the angel of help. You skid to a stop before her, knees trembling, as you start formulating another plan in your mind.

Your vision blurs, spotting and spinning, as you weakly register a fiery pain growing along the back of your skull. Falling onto the dusty floor you note the angels face watching on the window, as if pitying those in the church today, before your eyelids droop and unconsciousness envelopes you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys. For more of our stuff check out our tumblr abitofarockyroad@tumblr.com :)


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